


Break me, Shake me

by CractasticDispatches



Series: TVXQ Drabbles [5]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Emotion Porn, Established Relationship, M/M, basically feels, life is messy, so many feels..., sometimes people don't always handle it that well, this falls into the category that we have for lack a better word termed:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CractasticDispatches/pseuds/CractasticDispatches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There were hints, over the years, there really were. If he’d wanted to, he probably could have guessed. Could have remembered. But he didn’t want to, so he didn’t. Didn’t see. Didn’t realize. Forgot. Needed to, maybe.  Repression works for a reason, after all.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break me, Shake me

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the Savage Garden song of the same name. it felt relevant somehow

There were hints, over the years, there really were. If he’d wanted to, he probably could have guessed. Could have remembered. But he didn’t want to, so he didn’t. Didn’t see. Didn’t realize. Forgot. Needed to, maybe.  Repression works for a reason, after all.

So when he hears, when they first tell him, it’s a shock, but that’s it. He’s okay. Or… or maybe he isn’t but he doesn’t know. Can’t tell yet. It’s like that first kiss: too big and too surprising for reactions. Only this is bigger. This is worse. Not something he wanted. 

When it finally hits him, really starts to sink in, he doesn’t really realize what’s happening. There’s still too much to think about. Too much to process. To feel. There’s no plan. No decisions, even. No thought to connect one action to another. Just a feeling of something way too much to handle and a pressing need for it all to stop. Not even go away, just, just stop.

Water pounding hard and hot against his skin. The chop of the blade against the cutting board. The glass of wine. All nothing. No thinking. Just going through the motions. And it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to keep it all way. To stave off the huge thing pressing in on him, suffocating him.  So when he sees the keys on the counter it’s not even a decision. He just grabs them and goes.

He doesn’t argue when the officer pulls him over. Or when he’s asked to take a breathalyzer test. Or when he’s taken back to the station. He knows he’s not really in any condition to be driving. It’s just not the alcohol that’s the problem.

  


“Yeoboseyo?”

“Yunho? It’s me.”

“Jaejoong?” Yunho’s sleepy voice is suddenly sharper. Worried. “Why are you calling me? It’s so late. And you never call. You always text first. And why are you not using your phone?”

There isn’t even room in Jaejoong’s body to feel ashamed right now. “I need you to come get me,” he says, and the tonelessness of his voice sounds strange, sounds wrong, even to his own ears. “I’m at the police station.”

“What? Oh my god, are you alright? Are you hurt?” There’s a sudden flurry of sound on the other end and Jaejoong can almost see it; Yunho scrambling off his bed and into the hall, grabbing for his keys and trying to pull on his shoes and coat and stay on the phone all at once.

“I’m fine,” Jaejoong says. “I’m not hurt. No one’s hurt. I just – I need you to come get me.”

“Give me the address,” Yunho commands, and he so rarely uses that voice. His leader voice. The one no one argues with, not ever. Jaejoong asks an officer, then repeats for Yunho the address the man rattles off.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Yunho says.

  


He’s there in ten. And it’s so strange, to see him and know he’s relieved to see him, but not actually be able to feel anything. Jaejoong thinks probably that should worry him except he can’t feel that either.

Yunho’s eyes find him instantly and Jaejoong can see some of the tension drain out of him as he takes in the lack of bandages or whatever else he might have been worrying about. Jaejoong stays where he is, sitting in the chair by the officer’s desk, while Yunho talks to first the man who pulled him over, then the captain, and finally the man who might be a secretary – he does the paperwork, at any rate. Then Yunho nods sharply, bows, and turns towards Jaejoong. Jaejoong stands up as the other man comes over and he can see the concern, different now, but no less sharp, etched on his face.

“Jae–” Yunho starts, but Jaejoong can see, already knows what’s coming. Can see it in the twitch of Yunho’s fingers and the cant of his walk. And Jaejoong might not know what he’s feeling right now, might not even know what he’s thinking right now, but if he knows anything in this moment it is that he cannot let Yunho reach out to him. Can’t let Yunho touch him, hug him. He has no idea what his reaction might be, but he does know it would be extreme and completely uncontrollable.

And they’re in public.

So he shoves his hands in his pockets. Makes his face as blank as he can. Says, “Can we go?”

Yunho falters mid-stride. “I – yeah. I – are you–?” He stops. His hands fall back to his sides. Dark eyes fix on Jaejoong’s face. Jaejoong has no idea what he sees there but it must tell him something because he straightens. Nods. “Yes,” he says. “We can go now.”

“Good.”

Yunho leads the way and Jaejoong follows as they walk in silence all the way out the door and through the parking lot to the car.

“Where—?” Yunho starts as they slide in.

“Home,” says Jaejoong. Yunho hesitates, keys in the ignition.

“Back to your family?” he asks. “You still have some time off, I know, and—”

And that is the absolute last thing Jaejoong wants right now; to go back to his family _(god, his_ family _)_ , to have to go back to the source of all this, where he can’t escape it, not even a little. He would have stayed all night at the station rather than call his family to come get him right now. Thank god Yunho always sleeps by his phone, even is it is mostly just an attempt not to keep losing the damn thing.

“ _Home_ ,” says Jaejoong again, and even though he hasn’t really specified he knows Yunho will understand. “I want to go home. I – god, just get me out of here. Just take me home. Please.”

“Okay,” says Yunho. “Okay, we’re going home.”

He turns the car on and drives. Jaejoong curls up in the passenger seat and stares out the window and tries not to think or feel or anything. Tries to just watch. To see only the buildings, and then trees, flashing by in the dark. To hear nothing but the hum of the motor and the soft _whoosh_ of other cars _(not that there are that many at this hour)_. To feel nothing but the vibrations of the car and the bumps of the road beneath them. Or maybe the dig of his fingernails into his palms or the clench of his jaw and it’s just not enough to hold off the thing he can’t think about, and he closes his eyes and tries to breathe and to not feel the rush in his ears or thud of his heart or the sick churn of his stomach or—

Yunho pulls over. They’re probably only halfway back. The road is small and not commonly used and there’s nothing wrong; no accident up ahead, no problem with the car so Jaejoong doesn’t understand why they’ve stopped.

“Jae?” says Yunho quietly.

Jaejoong closes his eyes again. “Don’t,” he says.

“Jae, please. Talk to me.” He almost sounds like he’s begging. Except Yunho doesn’t beg. Not like this. He just doesn’t. “What happened? They said you’d been drinking.”

“I had half a glass of wine,” Jaejoong says. Dismisses. Drops his head back against the headrest, as if that might ground him somehow.

“Yeah, but I know you. You can hold your alcohol better than any of us. That’s not enough to throw you off, not like this.”

And Yunho does know him. And he’s right. Jaejoong is not drunk. He’s nowhere near drunk. He’s not even buzzed. He just can’t breathe and this is not a conversation he wants to have. Not now. Maybe not ever. But especially not now, not when the very thought makes him feel like this;like he’s trapped. Trapped and _scared_ – so scared that he’s nearly sick with it. That it makes him shake. So scared it doesn’t even fit in his body and he thinks he’d claw off his own skin if it would just make it stop. Make him not feel this way. But it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t. And he needs it to stop and he can’t make it stop and he can. Not. Breathe.

But if he can’t make it stop, maybe he can drown it out.

“Jae, please,” Yunho is saying, but he stops abruptly as Jaejoong suddenly leans over and reaches down between Yunho’s legs. “Jae, what are you—?” Jaejoong gropes for a moment then finds the seat release and pulls and Yunho yelps as his seat slides back. “Jaejoong, what—?” he tries again, but Jaejoong ignores him, unbuckling himself and climbing over the center console and into Yunho’s lap, straddling him. He feels around the side of the seat and pulls the other seat release, then pushes, leaning forward to push the seat back. Then he attaches his mouth to Yunho’s.

Yunho’s sound of startlement is small and muffled, but definitely there. And so it’s probably just automatic, his reaction, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. Because his lips part under Jaejoong’s and his hands come up to hold on, gripping low on his back and up by his neck, and they’re warm and strong and just a bit rough through his shirt and so exactly what Jaejoong needs right now. So he winds his arms around Yunho’s neck, kisses him more thoroughly, curling his tongue into Yunho’s mouth and moving his hips, rocking against him just a little.

Yunho groans beneath him, arching up, pulling him closer — And then pushing him back. Pulling away.

“We can’t do this, not here,” he says.

“Why the fuck not?” Jaejoong retorts, trying to move back in, managing to hit the corner of Yunho’s mouth and then settling for dragging his lips down his neck.

“Uh, because it’s two in the morning?” says Yunho. “Because we’re in a car—”

“People do it in cars all the time,” Jaejoong counters.

“— on a public road,” Yunho finishes determinedly. “Someone might see.”

“I thought you liked getting away with it.” Why is he arguing? Who turns down free sex, even quickies in cars?

“I like being _good_ at getting away with it. Getting caught on a public road is not my definition of either of those things.”

“It’s two in the morning,” Jaejoong snaps. “Who’s going to see? Who’s even out? God, why are you being so difficult? Why can’t you just shut up and fuck me already?”

The silence that follows is thick, and heavy; unnaturally still. _(Almost,_ almost _, as bad at the other thing. Almost. But not quite.)_ Yunho stares at him, and it’s hard to make out his expression in the dim light of the street lamps, but it doesn’t matter. Because he’s never said that before. Never even come close, no matter what they’ve done.

And it sounds vulgar and _hot_ and maybe also a bit telling. Maybe gives him away a little. Maybe gives him away entirely, even if he’s not really sure what it is he’s revealing. But apparently it’s also his way in because no matter how quiet Yunho is, he can’t control his body’s reaction. Can’t stop the way he jerks, just a little, or the way his fingers clench in Jaejoong’s shirt and at his hip. Can’t possibly hide the way he’s suddenly that much harder beneath Jaejoong.

“We — we can’t.” And Yunho’s voice is definitely a little unsteady. Less resolved. “Public, and, and no supplies.”

But this is Yunho’s car and Jaejoong has been in it before and he knows he had to stash lube in here once or else risk it falling out of his pocket at some event or other. He slides a hand into the glove compartment, fishes around, then pushes the little bottle into Yunho’s hand.

“Jae—”

“Come on,” Jaejoong says. Whispers. Grinds down. “Come on, don’t you want me?”

And he never talks like this, he just doesn’t. Is always too shy, too embarrassed to say the words. Wouldn’t know how to say them, or even what to say, in any case. But with the pressure building up inside him and this the only way he can think of to counter it, apparently he can do this.

“No condoms,” Yunho manages to gasp out, even as his hips buck up, bringing them together hard and the friction is a little too much and so not enough and absolutely delicious.

And Jaejoong thinks about that, about no condom, about nothing but _Yunho_ inside him, no barriers but their own skin, and somehow, that cinches it. _This_ — this is happening.

“Good,” he says. Doesn’t think. Knots his fingers in Yunho’s hair. Pulls. Grinds down more. Harder. “Good. God, who cares? There’s only ever been you, anyway. And you haven’t—”

“No! No, I’ve never— But, Jae—”

But ‘no’ is just so not an option right now. It just isn’t. He _needs_ this. And again, there’s almost no decision. No thought. Just need _(for it to stop, for Yunho, for this, to just fucking be able to breathe)_ , and action.

“Yunho.” The word comes out a bit strangled. A bit something he didn’t mean to broadcast but can’t quite hold back. Jaejoong squeezes his eyes shut. Digs his fingers even deeper into Yunho’s hair. Leans forward to kiss him, deep and desperate. “Yunho. Yunho, please.”

Yunho hesitates, then makes a sound, deep, deep in his throat.

“Back seat,” he says.

  


Later, he thinks, he might hate himself for this. For pushing _(needing, being selfish)_ like this. Because Yunho never pushes him. Not ever. And later he’ll remember that. And later he’ll maybe feel a little guilty _(maybe wonder, a little. Wonder_ why _)_. But that’s later. Now is Yunho’s tongue sliding over his. Now is Yunho’s hands on his skin — stroking up his back under his shirt, running rough over his nipples and making him hiss, then sliding over his bare ass and thighs. Now is those fingers, strong and slender and slick with lube, carefully working him, opening his body up, and then Yunho himself, sliding in and Jaejoong’s fingers biting hard into Yunho’s shoulders with the mix of stretch and fullness and pleasure _(pain)_. Now is the soft slap of skin and the heat of Yunho inside him and the friction that just gets better every time Yunho rocks up into him and Jaejoong whispering _“harder”_ against his skin and he’s never said that before either. Never been bold enough. Never needed so much that he could get the words out but now he does, needs this in a way he barely understands himself but it’s so raw and still choking him just a little so the words come.

And Yunho does, moving a little harder, a little deeper, a little faster. And it’s good and it’s immediate and almost, almost enough and Jaejoong pushes closer. Buries his face in Yunho’s neck and clings there, not caring about — barely even aware of — the noises he’s making, all helpless gasps and desperate whimpers. Just holds on. Holds on like it’s the only thing that matters. The only thing that’s happening.

The sound Yunho makes when he comes is incredible. And Jaejoong can feel it inside of him, can feel the heat of his release, and between that and _that sound,_ Yunho barely has to touch him to send him over the edge as well; so intense he thinks he’d scream with it if he had enough air left.

Lying together in the aftermath, Yunho’s arms still tight, tight around him and _still inside_ , Jaejoong has the thought that if his body were a woman’s, then when Yunho eventually pulled out, everything else would still stay. And Jaejoong is not a woman, has no desire to be a woman, but he suddenly envies them that; that they can keep a part of their lovers with them, inside them, even afterwards. Even when they’re not touching anymore. Because he thinks maybe he never wants Yunho to pull out. To pull away. Would gladly stay like this, with Yunho, their bodies so, so connected, forever if he could.

Yunho reaches up a hand to stroke his hair, his back, and Jaejoong wishes they’d bothered to get all the way naked. That he could feel the comfort of skin-on-skin. He closes his eyes.

“My family’s not my family,” he confesses to the darkness, the words ghosting out along Yunho’s collarbone.

“What?” says Yunho, sounding confused.

“My family isn’t my family,” Jaejoong says again. “My parents aren’t my parents. My mother — god, she’s not even my mother — She told me. Last night. I think she tried to tell me before but— They’re not my parents. Not my family. My real mother — my biological mother — she gave me to them when I was little.”

“I — I —” Yunho falters, clearly unsure how to react. What to say. Not that Jaejoong can blame him. He sure as hell doesn’t know either. “ _Fuck.”_

“Yeah. Yeah. God, Yunho, I feel like — like— like— God, I don’t even know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Fuck. Jaejoong—”

“That’s not even my name,” Jaejoong says. And his voice goes a little high. A little hysterical. “God. God, _fuck._ She wants to meet me. My biological mother. She wants to meet me and my name isn’t even my name anymore. I don’t know who my family is — I don’t even know who _I_ am anymore.”

“Hey.” Yunho’s arms tighten around him. “Hey. Breathe.”

Jaejoong tries. Inhales. Shakes violently on the exhale.

“Family isn’t blood,” Yunho says. “We’re family. You and me. And Changmin and Junsu and Yoochun. We’re family and we’re not blood. And I’ve met your family. They love you. They’re still yours even if you turn out to have another one. And we’ve all got at least four different names by now, what’s one more in the mix?”

“But—”

“Shh, I’m not done.”

Jaejoong falls silent. More out of surprise than anything else.

“As for who you are,” Yunho continues, “you’re still you, _pabo._ You’re still the man who taught himself to sing and to play the piano and who ran away from home to chase his dream of singing. You’re still the klutz who trips on nothing but who still manages to look hot when dancing, and cooks for all of us because you think we’ll forget to eat otherwise, and who teases Junsu all the time and gets pissed off when I don’t text you back fast enough. Still the same guy who can never watch what he says and who gets embarrassed so easily and it’s kind of really fucking adorable even though you probably don’t like to hear that. And you’re definitely still the man I fell in love with. Still the person I chose.

“That’s who you are, Jae. Different name or different genes don’t change that. They just don’t. That would be like saying that different hair makes a difference but we change our hair all the time and we’re all still us.”

Jaejoong blinks. And it’s stupid and not at all the same thing but he says it like it is. Like it really doesn’t change anything. Like Jaejoong is still just Jaejoong.

He brings a hand up, grabs a fistful of Yunho’s shirt. Presses that fist to his mouth and tries, without understanding how, to get even closer. And maybe he had it backwards. He thought he wanted to keep Yunho inside but maybe that’s wrong. Maybe what he really wants, really needs, is for it to be the other way around. For Yunho to hold on even tighter. To crawl right inside Yunho’s skin and never come back out.

And he kind of wants to ask, to tell Yunho to say it again. Just one more time. To make it real just a little bit longer. But that’s — that’s too much. Too something he’s not sure how to be. So instead he just says, “Don’t tell the others.”

Yunho hesitates, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I won’t.”

“Promise?” And he does mean it. But that’s not what he’s asking. Not really.

“Yeah,” says Yunho, bending his neck to kiss the top of Jaejoong’s head, then just staying there, lips pressed into his hair, breath warm and just a bit damp against his scalp. “Yeah, I promise.”

“Good. I — good.”

They lay there like that for a long time. And Yunho doesn’t let go. And Jaejoong breathes.


End file.
